by Alice Kirks
“Or he can ride back!” Arabella said. “Brother? What think you?”
Alexandra tensed, wishing Arabella didn’t have the habit of treating her as an equal. She had no idea what might make her more formal. She didn’t want the Duke to make any exceptions, especially not for her!
People must already be talking. And I desperately don’t need anybody to be talking about me.
She was meant to have disappeared untraceably.
“I think we can stay another hour in the village, Arabella, if you want to have your tea here too.”
“Hurray!” Arabella said, clapping her hands excitedly. “Isn’t this fun, Alexandra? I can’t wait.”
Alexandra nodded, wishing she could conjure up the same easygoing delight.
“Yes,” she murmured, “it’s very nice.”
She leaned back, watching the scenery go past.
The village, when they arrived, was deserted. Alexandra took in the wide cobbled market, the inn and the brewery where they bordered the square, the tall church-spire sticking up to mark its place against the skyline. She stepped down, avoiding his Grace’s eye. The air was crisp and cold.
“Come on!” Arabella said, pointing. “Haberdashery’s this way! Brother, are you off to see your accountant already?”
Alexandra hid a grin as the Duke sighed. “Yes, sister. Am I allowed a moment, to consult my notes?”
“I think not!” Arabella teased. “Off you go, straightaway, and we’ll meet you in the square at ten o’clock for tea.”
“Yes, sister. I’ll be here.” He headed off towards a low house with diamond-paned windows. Alexandra watched his back, the coat stretched over broad shoulders, his boots shined, and buckles burnished.
“He’s in an odd fix, isn’t he?” Arabella asked, slipping her arm through Alexandra’s, as they walked to the shop. “So moody! What can have got into him?”
“No clue,” Alexandra murmured, though she thought she knew. She felt restless, too. She half-wished she hadn’t come, but half of her was bereft at the Duke’s leaving and wanted to follow him all morning.
Foolish Alexandra!
She was not meant to be interested in the Duke! She was here to protect herself. First and foremost, she was here to take care of Arabella.
“Whee!” Arabella said, taking her arm and skipping as they went across the cobbles. Alexandra tried to calm her down without having to shame her high spirits.
“Arabella, aren’t you cold? Come on, let’s fasten our cloaks. It is windy out here.”
“Yes, it is,” Arabella said, falling into step beside her. She focused on tying a bow in the ties of her long oatmeal-colored cloak and stopped skipping and running about.
The haberdasher’s shop, when they arrived, was a low building with wide windows and a beautiful door, the windows showing all manner of fine fabrics, artfully draped so that people could admire them. Arabella walked in briskly and introduced Alexandra to the owner – a young woman with dark hair tied back in a bun – at once.
“Alexandra, this is Mrs. Penhurst. Mrs. Penhurst, this is my friend, Alexandra Ilfield. She’s my chaperone, really, but we are such good friends too, are we not?”
“Thank you, my Lady,” Alexandra said, making a brief curtsey to Mrs. Penhurst, who did the same. “Now, shall we look for the silks?”
She looked around, desperate to focus on anything else besides herself. She was fairly sure the haberdashery owner could not get word back to her family, but it wasn’t worth the risk! She saw the cottons, laid out on a system of pegs so that they could see them clearly, and went over.
“Oh, Miss. Yes, these are the embroidery silks. Allow me to show you the latest red threads…”
Alexandra nodded, bending over the threads, while Arabella looked around, inspecting the silks and linens. Alexandra chose the colors for their embroidery and took them over to the counter. They would add all the wares up at the end of their purchase and write them in the account-book to be sent to Blakeley House.
“Alexandra!” Arabella called. “Come and look at this!” She held up a figured silk, decorated with thin gray lines against a yellowish background, and a design of tiny flowers.
“It’s beautiful,” Alexandra said, stepping back as Arabella draped her in it.
“That’s for you,” she said. “I’ve made my choice…the pink one, over there. Or do you think white more appropriate? All the other girls making their first appearance will wear white. So, I decided pink instead. Frank says it’s a much prettier color.” She reddened.
“I think Frank is right,” Alexandra nodded. She was pleased that Arabella had friends of her own age and wanted to encourage that. “And that pink is not so vibrant, I think, as to stand out too strongly.”
“Yes!” Arabella giggled. “I’ll stand out a bit, though! And that can’t be a bad thing. I’d hate to just look like all the rest.”
“You’ll never look like all the rest,” Alexandra promised, squeezing her hand. “Now, I’ll leave you and Mrs. Penhurst to discuss amounts. I’ll choose some cottons for the big wall-tapestry.”
“Grand!”
When they left, Alexandra had two big bundles of purchases in the basket over her arm. They walked to the glove shop, just to look, and the seamstress – though Arabella had her own seamstress, who visited the manor once a month.
“Brother!” Arabella called, as someone came walking towards them across the square. “You’re finished! Can we go to tea, now?”
“Yes, of course,” the Duke said. He nodded at Alexandra, who flushed. “I see you bought a great deal of things. I trust not too much as to make the basket heavy?”
“No, not at all,” Alexandra said, taking a step back. She didn’t want him to even think of taking it from her. She leaned back against the wall, and tried to keep out of the conversation, lagging while they walked.
“And of course,” the Duke was saying to his sister, who kept up a brisk pace beside him, her shorter legs struggling, “we shall have to make plans for the dinner we’ll hold at Blakeley soon.”
“Yes! Brother, about the dinner…I’ve been talking to Henriette, and she said their cook does a terrific roast. I thought maybe our cook could go to her house for a day, and they could learn…” she was saying. Alexandra stepped back out of sight, trying to keep a respectful distance behind them. She had learned not to do anything that would make her seem anything besides an ordinary chaperone.
She blinked as she found herself staring at man.
He was leaning on the wall of the weaver’s shop, and he was staring at her.
No, she thought. Her blood froze. She recognized him.
He saw her looking and turned his gaze up. She turned away, drawing her cloak about her, turning her back and hurrying away. She didn’t want to believe it. She wanted to convince herself she’d got confused, somehow. It couldn’t have been who she thought it was.
“Alexandra?” her charge called, turning back and looking puzzled. “Where are you? We’re at the teashop already.”
“Coming, my Lady,” Alexandra called back and hurried across the square, feeling as if every step took her away from impossible danger.
“Alexandra?” Arabella asked as she hurried up into the teashop and practically slammed the door behind her. “Whatever is it? You look pale!”
“Yes, what happened?” the Duke asked. His voice was low.
“Nothing,” Alexandra said quickly, trying not to show how shaken her hands were as she tried to unfasten the ties of her hat. “I am just tired. Will we take tea now?”
“Yes,” Arabella said, and took her hand. “Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit down. Brother will order tea for us, and you must come and choose a slice of cake. You’re hungry, that’s all. A good Chelsea bun will make you feel just the ticket.”
Alexandra nodded, allowing herself to be led to the counter, where a lovely array of cakes awaited her. It was difficult to concentrate, though, and she kept on looking around, as if half-expecting th
e man she’d seen to burst in and try to grab her.
“Miss, you really aren’t feeling well,” the Duke said, as they sat down at the table together. Alexandra looked up, wishing she didn’t feel so sapped of energy! The shock, she told herself. It was shock, that drained her strength and made her feel as if she wanted to sleep.
“I’m fine,” she said firmly, not wanting to spoil the outing.
“We’ll take tea and go straight back, Alexandra,” Arabella promised, squeezing her fingers. “The coach will have come back by then, and we’ll go straight to the manor, where you can take rest. Will that make you better?”
“It certainly will,” Alexandra made herself say, though her voice was tight and whispering.
“We’ll get you straight back to the coach,” the Duke murmured. He regarded Alexandra with concern, and she felt her heart melt.
She couldn’t bear to feel so tender for long – not when she was in danger. That man knew her father, and she was sure that, sooner or later, he would tell him what he had seen.
Chapter 9
Matthew looked up from perusing the Gazette. He had been sitting in the drawing-room, while Arabella worked on her tapestry on the chaise-lounge, trying to act calm. It wasn’t easy, since no matter how hard he tried to set the thought aside, his concern for Alexandra distracted him.
“My Lady?” he heard Alexandra say. He stood up at once, dropping the papers onto the velvet chair across from him. Alexandra walked into the room, her hair in a severe bun again, looking pale.
“Miss? Are you feeling better?”
Alexandra looked up at him, and he directly felt shy and a little awkward – she was looking at him as if he had no reason to ask her that.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, sounding surprised. “I am.”
Matthew sat down, though he couldn’t settle to reading the foolish London news. He was worried.
Something had happened. He could sense it. Alexandra was bothered.
She had barely talked on the coach-trip back, and had sat there, pale and drawn. He had no idea what it was that had upset her, but he wished he could think of something to make her feel better. He also wished she would speak to him.
She was ignoring him, though, looking at the tapestry that was resting on Arabella’s lap.
“My Lady, that’s looking very promising. I like the colors you’ve chosen for the branches there – the golden color and the brown match so nicely. Should we try red, for the flowers?”
“I thought it was a plum tree,” Arabella countered. “Aren’t a plum tree’s flowers usually pink?”
Matthew shrugged.
“I reckon,” he said. He leaned back, pretending to read the gazette, but watching them over the top of it. Yes, Alexandra was definitely tense. She was stiff-backed, barely sitting on the chaise-lounge as she reached to get cottons out of the work-box Arabella had.
He wondered what had happened in the village.
“Miss,” he said, as soon as he got a chance. Arabella was sewing, and Alexandra was arranging acanthus leaves in a big vase on top of the mantel. “You did get a shock this morning.”
“I didn’t,” she murmured. “I am only tired. Once these are arranged, I will retire upstairs – with Arabella’s permission, of course.”
“Of course, Alexandra!” Arabella said, looking up from her embroidery. “Go at once! I can finish sewing this anytime. And I can do the flowers if you like? It’s good practice.”
“I’ll do it,” Alexandra assured her. “And thank you. You are so thoughtful and compassionate.”
Arabella grinned delightedly and blushed, looking away. Matthew smiled to himself. In the weeks that Alexandra had been here, he had both grown to appreciate his sister more, and seen a side he’d never seen before. She was impulsive, funny and kind. When she’d been here alone, with no companionship, there had been days when she was sullen and indifferent. He understood that now.
Alexandra was right, he thought. He had been blind.
“I’m going to go upstairs and check the documents from the accountant,” he said. “If anybody visits, please tell Mr. Denning to send them up.”
“Of course, Brother,” Arabella called.
Alexandra looked up at him as he went, and he could not forget the fear he saw in her eyes.
“A party! That’s what we need,” he told himself firmly. Alexandra looked as if she needed distracting. He recalled that it was almost time for their traditional celebration of the harvest. It was something that the country folks did, but he and Arabella had always loved the festivities, and had sneaked down to watch them when Arabella was a small girl. She had enjoyed it so much that he had kept up the tradition, and they always had a special dinner, celebratory.
“Your Grace?” the butler looked up as Matthew went into his office. He was there checking the hearth. Matthew paused.
“Mr. Denning, could you tell Cook we shall be wanting to have a special party tomorrow evening? I think we can plan to invite five guests. Yes, five. Could you also send up the menu for my sister and I to check? Thank you, Mr. Denning.”
“Of course, your Grace.”
He felt a little more relaxed, after coming up with that. Arabella would be happy, since he hadn’t forgotten, and Alexandra, he was sure, would enjoy it.
He found himself imagining Alexandra being there, her hair arranged beautifully as it had been that day when they went to the tea-party, her dress low-cut and the color something dark, able to bring out the rich tones of her eyes, so mysterious and tender.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he chided himself.
Feeling embarrassed, as if someone could possibly have known his thoughts, he bent over the accounts-books.
“Brother!” Arabella said, running in. “Mr. Denning just brought in the menu for our harvest-celebratory meal! I’m so glad you remembered! Thank you!”
Matthew nodded.
“Of course, I did,” he said, feeling warm and grateful inside, that he had. “Should I ask what’s on it? Or is it going to be secret?”
“Secret!” Arabella grinned. “I shan’t tell you until tomorrow. Now, should we look at the guest-list?”
“Of course,” Matthew nodded. “I want to invite Albert, if you have no objection to him?”
Arabella flashed a grin. “Of course! And…” she flushed. “Can we invite Frank?”
“Of course, we can,” Matthew said firmly. He was sure it would be good for her, to have young people her own age around. “And Henriette? Would you like to invite her, too?”
“Yes!” Arabella said instantly. “Of course! And Amelia? Then she can show me the new piece she promised to teach me. It’s ever so nice! And challenging!”
“Of course,” Matthew nodded.
She drew out a chair and sat opposite him at the desk, and they made the list together. Matthew sprinkled sand on the ink to set it, and Arabella smiled.
“I remember watching you do that,” she said, watching as he carefully dusted the sand off. “I always wondered why you did it, and, when I understood, why you didn’t just blow the sand. It’s so much more fun!”
